Maria
by Fyanna3
Summary: The short story of a female assassin in the period after Assassin's Creed II.  Contains new and old characters, and provides an introspective look at a female assassin's place and position.
1. Chapter 1 Sometimes

"Sometimes I wonder what her life would have been like if he hadn't died."

_"Luciano! Luciano!" she called, her voice a bell. She was a girl, young and beautiful. Her voice carried through the garden, seeming to float with the breeze that lifted leaves from the myrtle trees._

_"Maria!" he answered, his figure appearing on the path before her. She smiled, her curly brown locks framing her soft, gentle face. And as he approached, dressed in the humble garb of the Italian renaissance artisan, she smoothed out her white dress._

_"My beautiful Maria," he hummed, coming to the stone bench on which she sat, "I apologize for leaving you without company."_

_"Your consistency would be admirable if only you arrived on time."_

_"I was helping my sister!" he defended, bringing his hands up as if to ward of fists, "I had to deliver her wedding announcements!"_

_"I wouldn't be surprised if you are late to your own wedding, Luciano!" she attacked, but her voice broke into a laugh. He fell in sync, and another breeze swept through the path, carrying the myrtle leaves and stirring the scent of foliage._

_"Do not joke about it so. You are probably right." He sighed and sat beside her on the bench, his dark leather boots dragging along the gravel._

_"That is, if you can find a wife." She added slyly, her body leaning in as if passing a secret, "That, in itself, is a great feat."_

_A tinge of blush bloomed on his cheeks, and he chuckled nervously, "Well, as we are on the subject..."_

_"You aren't leaving again, are you? I hate these 'trips' of your's," she scolded._

_"No, no," he waved his hands and grinned with a hint of guilt, "I'm staying put."_

_"Good."_

_He stopped, and he looked over to her face. She observed the garden, her body and expression relaxed. The moment froze, and the two companions sat silently, the myrtles and the olive trees rustling gently._

_"Well," she began again, "what is it?"_

_He slipped into her eyes._

_"Maria, would you marry me?"_

The moon was pale, and the clouds swept over it as they were fingers and hands, hiding its face.

A woman stood on the tower, a scarlet scarf trailing behind her moonlit silhouette.

Her gray hood concealed her face, and her loose shirt was tucked into tight trousers at her waist. They betrayed her curves, but that kept attention away from her arms, clad in lightweight but durable leather armor. A trickle of blood seemed to drip from her fingers.

Voices called from below, "Up there, I see something." Two guards raised their heads, but the shadow was gone. All that was left was a gust of wind.

Her legs sent her into a sprint along the rooftops. Her boots fell quickly. She flew along the tiles of the Venetian houses, and her figure would appear, then disappear, the only true sign seeming to be a streak of red that lingered, and then vanished, in the peripheral vision of the night guard.

_"Go northwest, past the northernmost tower in the district," he pointed to an old, stained map of the merchant's quarter, "He will be in his study, talking with a good friend of ours."_

_She watched him scratch his beard, "Marcello."_

_"Listen to the meeting, then kill him. As for Marcello, you do with him what you will. But remember," he turned to her and he stood rigid, "Be silent. Be quick. Be fatal."_

She reached the window, her hand outstretched as it grasped just below the frame. Her hands hung to the ornate carvings, crafted by architects not long ago. She flattened her body against the wall, but let her ear lift to catch the falling words of the conversation inside.

"This must end!" he roared, his volume filled with rage.

"Be quiet," Marcello hissed, "Who knows where loose words will land."

"Those damned assassins," his voice oozed with bloodlust, "I will kill them all! I will tolerate their schemes no longer!"

"That is a useless cause! They are rats; hidden within the cracks of the city in numbers we can't count."

"I don't care how many there are! I will bring them all to ruin!"

"Save your anger, friend, we have more pressing matters that your passion must serve."

Marcello calmed the beast briefly, as the man's protests fell back. He walked towards the window.

She could hear him heave, his breath that of a bull's.

"They're out there, Marcello. I see them. They make this city stink."

"It sickens me, as well, but I need you to get me the letter."

"Don't fuss, you will receive it soon enough," he retreated back from the window, but left it open.

She put her ear to the wall, and she heard him walk across the floor. The sound of a creaking drawer and a rustle of papers caused her to feel a surge of anxiety. The letter.

"Here it is, as promised."

"Thank you my friend." The sound of fabric and clothing meant they must have embraced, "You will soon receive your reward."

"Make haste, Marcello. This business is not yet done."

With a movement, the echo of the door opening and closing whispered in the brick walls. And as the man still remaining in the room sat, another figure began to move.

She pulled herself down from the window, and stood on a ledge. She glanced over, and saw the small, discreet bloodstain left from when she had stabbed the night guard on the opposite roof. Now, she raised her arm and tested her hidden blade. With a flick, the blade shot out from its slot, the metal polished and deadly. Returning it to its original position, she breathed in the night air, and then ascended the window.

It was a quick, silent ascent. She pulled herself up onto the sill, not a noise to disturb the sleeping man reclined in his chair by the fireside. She wasted no time, leaving the sill and entering the room. Although she was aware he was asleep, she acted as if he were awake, and drifted through the room as a flickering shadow from the fire. Then, as she came to the back of the chair, she raised her arm and held it to his greasy, unshaven neck. He breathed in, the artery and air tube inflating under his vulnerable skin. She watched him deflate, and then thrust her wrist down. The blade entered his neck, and severed the tube, and gently hit the artery. The touch caused blood to explode from his neck, but her skilled hands were fast from experience. She retracted her weapon and pulled away, only having a few splatters of blood hit her armour and face. It was done.


	2. Chapter 2 I Wonder

_"Maria!" Luciano sang, his voice elated from the past few days, "Wife, why do you hide from me?"_

_"I am in the garden, husband!" she laughed, her slender body wrapped in a beautiful summer dress made from soft linen. She swept the porch, and giggled to herself as she waited for Luciano to appear._

_"Ah, there you are, my little dove," he whispered in her ear as he embraced her from behind. His chestnut hair smelled sweet and his skin pressed on her cheek._

_"Go back to your craft, I am busy," she turned away, but did not leave his arms._

_"But I love you," he pleaded, and he turned her around to face him. Kneeling down, he found her hand and caressed it gently._

_"Oh, Luciano," she sighed, and let go of her broom, letting it fall to the ground. He saw his chance and seized her, gathering her dress in his arms and lifting her. They laughed, and he took her away into the house._

As the night crept forward, the body would be discovered, so she had to act quickly. Gracefully descending from the window, she leapt away to a joined building. And as her scarf whipped in the wind behind her, her trail was marked by yet another corpse.

_"Do not forget the letter." Ezio warned._

She knew he would head to the docks, so she would need to hurry. Her light body enabled her to attain speed and precision like that of a hummingbird, and she darted along the rooftops, peering down into the grimy alleys for Bartolomeo.

Finally, as she crouched near the edge of a rooftop she saw a cloaked man, followed by two guards. They walked with caution, their helmets swinging from side to side, scouring the streets. However, they did not think to look up.

She held back, pursuing them to observe their movements. It was a sporadic route, with random twists and sudden back tracks. They were taking no risks. However, they traded brute force for stealth by having only two guards. She would use this to her advantage. By drawing behind and catching the guards by surprise, she would be able to eliminate them easily and then deal with Marcello.

Her eyes became cold. This was her chance.

As they took another sudden turn, she dropped to the alley. By jumping down onto a pile of rubbish she was able to break her fall, and then slide up against the wall behind them. This was the moment, if they noticed her presence, she would have to flee, and the mission would be compromised.

But the guards continued to take the turn, and soon she was hidden by the wall. She followed behind, light on her toes and behind their steps.

She prepared her blade, and grasped a short blade in the other. Her hand gripped the hilt, and then she jumped from behind the wall.

The blades landed true to their target, sinking into the flesh of the neck just under the guards' helms. They sputtered as their throats filled with blood, and Marcello turned around. His face was not that of shock or horror, but a calculated grimace. He drew his sword, and prepared to face her.

"You," he sneered.

She let the bodies drop and steadied her arms in front of her, weapons ready, "Give me the letter,"

He lunged forward, his sword coming down hard on her arm. The armour blocked the cut, but the force of the attack caused her to fall back slightly. He pushed forward again, instinctively heading for her shoulders. She darted away, and swiped her blade as his thigh. He wore armor as well, but the cut fell between the pads and blood gushed from his leg. He roared with anger, and threw his sword at her legs, then her chest and arms. She managed to avoid any great harm, but his offensive manoeuvres prevented her from landing any hindering blows.

"Come to avenge that filthy husband, have you?" he mocked.

He continued to push forward, but he became predictable with his movements. Jumping away, from one of his attacks, she slashed at his eyes and caught one. Blood swelled in the eye socket, and the eye itself seemed to on the brink of bursting.

He howled with pain and brought one hand up to his eye. Yet, his sword remained in his other hand and he flew at her with a new rage. However, this made him clumsy, and she was able to slip behind him and slash at his hand, causing it to buckle and the sword to fall. She gripped his arm and threw him to the ground, and straddling over him, she forced her blade up against the skin of his neck.

"Tell me who killed Luciano." She commanded. He spat at her. She brought the blade up to his other eye.

"Tell me or I will make you suffer a thousand deaths, so help me God." Her tone was cold and rigid, and he seemed to freeze under her. She pushed the blade forward, and he cried out in defence.

"Riccardo! It was Riccardo!"

"Where will I find him?"

"I don't know!" She raised her arm to strike. "Rome! Rome! He's in Rome!"

"Why did he kill him? Tell me!"

"Luciano knew about the letter!"

"What letter, this letter?"

"What's inside it..."

"What do you mean?" She waited for him to respond, but the loss of blood had caused him to breathe less, and he was slipping away. She shook her head, and she whispered, "Rest in peace."

She dealt the final blow.

As she searched his satchel, she could hear someone approaching. She looked inside, and there it was. The letter.

She slipped it into her own satchel, and then scaled the building. Only a few moments later, a shout rose from the alley as a patrol found the bloody corpses. Their eyes flew up, but there was nothing their but the shadows created by the moon.

One of the guards swore he saw something red.


	3. Chapter 3 If

"_Maria," Luciano cooed, helplessly reaching out towards Maria._

_"Go!" she shouted at him, weeping as her shoulders sank under the burden._

_"I do not choose to leave you, Maria! But it is necessary!"_

_"For whom, Luciano?" she wept, turning to him._

_"You knew, Maria, you knew when we were married why it is! This is my destiny!" his voice became harsh._

_"Then go! Fight your battles, but do not expect to come home to me."_

_"Maria..." He looked up, but she had disappeared, leaving nothing but a door hanging half open to the night air._

A red streak drifted through the countryside that night. It sailed on the back of a black courser, and was lost in the Villa Auditore.

She entered the villa with the satchel, dried blood caked on her sleeves. She took off her hood.

"Maria,"

She turned to face the stairs, "Please don't call me by that name, Ezio."

A man stood at the top of the stairs, and he smiled sympathetically as he descended. His beard was well kept, and his eyes examined her, "I see the mission went well."

"I killed both men," she said as she walked forward to meet him. She offered him the satchel, her gloves stained faintly with blood.

Ezio received it, and looked on her compassionately, "Something troubles you."

"Not here."

Ezio nodded and he headed for the study. Maria followed behind, keeping a respectful distance. The door closed behind them.

"Well?" Ezio began, pulling the letter out from the satchel and then placing it on the desk.

"Riccardo," Ezio paused before answering.

"I should have known."

"Marcello told me it had to do with this letter."

Ezio held up the piece of paper, "This letter."

"Yes." Maria approached the desk, and spoke softer, "You know something."

"This letter," Ezio repeated, holding the envelope up to the light, "I have been waiting fifteen years for this letter."

He turned to Maria. She insisted, "I am no fool, Ezio."

"And neither am I," he defended, his tone serious, "But you are not the only one who has lost something for the brotherhood."

She hesitated.

"Fifteen years ago my father was killed along with my two brothers. I was told to take documents to a man; a man who would plead our father's case and show the conspiracy held against them. He betrayed us, and I have never been fully able to accept that day."

Ezio walked up towards the wall, where codex pages were tacked up on a large plank of wood. He sighed, "Years I have worked, since I first donned this garb and spoke our creed. I never seemed to come any closer to my ultimate goal. Today, I have proof of that betrayal, and that of the corruption which currently feasts on Italy. Yet, I don't feel any more able to accept that day, do you know why?"

Maria looked at Ezio, and he came to her, "Because I never made peace with myself."

Ezio searched Maria's face for understanding, and sighed as he found none. He left her side and walked to a sculpture of a beautiful virgin. He looked at it, and then back at Maria, "You will kill Riccardo, and you will avenge Luciano. However, you will not find peace."

"I must finish this, Ezio." Her response was not stubborn, but clear and decisive. He shook his head, but he said nothing. He sat down at the desk and took the letter, opening it gingerly. Then, he began to read.


	4. Chapter 4 Her Life

Ezio put the letter down. He took a deep breath, then inclined his head to Maria, "Come back tomorrow evening, I need to call the brotherhood to assembly."

Maria left the villa.

The streets of Monteriggioni were speckled with Assassins. It seemed as if this was the only place where it was safe for them to be at ease. Yet, Maria could feel the embers of hostility as she passed the groups of men. Although there were a few female assassins at present, they lived in Florence and Venice; Maria was the only one who was considered a senior and brother.

"Go home, Maria," Angelo hissed, his youthful face painted with scorn. Maria passed him. His words pursued, "You don't belong here."

As she reached the outer walls, she found her black courser waiting patiently. She stroked its muzzle, and whispered gently in its ear. It shook its head and relaxed, turning its body in preparation to depart. Maria mounted her steed, and guided the reins away from Monteriggioni. The courser began to trot, then canter, and was gone. Only the stable boy, who glanced up at a flick of distant red, saw her depart.

The grass and fields of the country brushed against each other in the wind. Maria rode for an hour on the dusty road, her horse's breathing and heavy hooves disturbing the tranquility of night. Finally, a modest home appeared ahead, and Maria's hands guided her steed towards it.

The door creaked when Maria leaned on it, letting it open. The wooden floorboards were lit by the moon's face, revealing a stain on the floorboards. Its body stretched over the wood, the faded red covering a great deal of the entrance. Maria observed it, and then continued into the house.

She lit a fire in the kitchen and removed her clothes. She prepared a pot of boiling water and began to wash her cloak and shirt, scrubbing until the red seeped out. Steam rose from the cloth as it was plunged into the water, and then lifted out. The humble fire gave the room a familiar glow, and Maria's deep locks fell loosely around her face. Her hands wrinkled from the water, and the scrubbing brush made them raw, but as she hung the clothes near the fire, the sleeves dripping with water rather than blood, it seemed as if her soul had been cleansed.

As she sat, she picked up her blades. They shone silver from the fire, and she began to sharpen them. The conflict of metal stirred up a cacophony of sounds, but Maria's face remained calm and serene.

Peace.

By the time she took to her bed, a small straw mattress on the floor with wool blankets, the moon seemed far away. The fire only dim embers and a pile of ash, the light faded from the room as silently as Maria fell asleep. Stars glimmered in the distance, and her breathing became deep and low.

_"Luciano!" Maria shrieked, her hands desperately caressing his hollow face, "Luciano!"_

_ The pool of blood was fed by a stream erupting from his chest. His lungs seemed to heave as if under the weight of a thousand stones, and his eyes were set on an untraceable place in the heavens._

_ The tears and cries of the woman filled the wooden beams, and the night quaked under it. It was inevitable._

_ "My love," she wept, her dress soaked with his blood and his face soaked with her tears. His body shook, and he lifted his arm, straining against invisible chains. It found her chest, and gently placed the palm over her left breast, the warmth of his hand seeping into her skin. She screamed in agony._

_ The hand fell and came to rest in the blood, the curled fingers still searching for her. Reaching out._

Maria awoke as she always had: her body tangled, her eyes sore and her body exhausted.

The window above her in the small hovel kitchen lit her face as she drew to it. Her body coiled into a helpless sphere, her bare back exposed and her spine visible under her taut skin. Her hands rubbed her forearms, and her eyes soared upon the heavens, searching for an untraceable place.

She searched for hours, but it remained a mystery.

Angelo was a handsome youth, with broad shoulders and a chiselled chin. He was always courting, and the river of women he had broken was unmatched by the other boys of his generation. Despite his charms, he was also a strong, proud fighter and an asset to the brotherhood.

That is what made it so difficult.

"Ave Maria," he lamented, his arms held high in satire, "Bless me for I have sinned!"

Maria continued forward.

"What brings you to our order today, sister?" he smirked, chasing his prey, "Come to please the master?"

Maria turned to face Angelo, and she met his eyes. She said nothing, but her stare was bitter and unrelenting. He dared to hold it, but he frowned in frustration as her eyes singed him. He tossed his head away, breaking the contact, and she left.

"Dumb bitch, doesn't know her place." He yelled behind her, but his words were drowned out as she faded into the crowd.

She began to climb the stairs to the villa, and another assassin met her gaze. It was Raul, Luciano's brother.

"Sister,"

"Brother,"

They embraced.

"I never thought it would come to this," he whispered to her. She gestured to the garden path. They followed it.

"I am worried, Raul," she expressed, her voice humble and soft.

"You and I both, sister,"

"Has Ezio spoken to you?"

"His request for solitude speaks for him."

They reached the back of the villa, and they went to the wall overlooking the countryside.

"I believe," Raul sighed, his weary face examining the blue sky, "Luciano does not will you to live your life in mourning."

Maria's red scarf became restless as the wind rushed up the walls from the fields below.

"Luciano did not will his death," she replied.

"You are unchanged, beloved sister," he smiled, "You are as stubborn as the day he married you."

She let herself smile with him.

"But your destiny is for a different path," Raul continued, "One that does not lie with this brotherhood."

"My destiny is mine to choose, brother."

"Maria, you are young and you are beautiful, you could remarry."

"What are you saying?"

"You could marry me," Raul concluded, looking over to his sister in law, "I will support you and love you in my brother's place, and you will be able to retire from this life."

She paused, letting the breeze pull back her hair from her face. Her cool blue eyes seemed to search the sky.

"I took this path for its filth, Raul. I chose the soot and the ashes; my hands were too soft before, too fair. Now look at them, they are hard and calloused. I was a woman of luxury, a female of pleasantries, and I abandoned that because I lost something much more valuable than a warm bed and a hot meal," Maria turned to Raul and lifted her wrist, clad in her greave concealing the small blade, "Luciano was a gift, a gift I took for granted. His life was briefly intertwined with mine, but he left something there. He left something that cannot be undone, and although he has passed, I feel him when I stay alone too long. I can't sit still anymore, let alone retire as a humble bride."

Raul shook his head, "I knew you would refuse me, but I still had to try. And although I wish it were different, I respect you for it."

"Thank you, brother."

Raul left her standing on the wall. He strolled down the path, his eyes cast down. When he reached the end of the path, he swivelled around to see his sister one last time.

He saw a bold, billowing gust of red.


	5. Chapter 5 Would

_Luciano was at his desk, his carving knife in his hand. The afternoon sun lit his wood and for a moment Maria paused._

_ His fingers worked gingerly, the knife caressing the wood. Its blade did not cut at it, but seemed to mould it, shaping its curves as a hand would stroke another's neck. She thought of how Luciano laid with her, outlining her body with his hands. His touch was that of pure admiration, a love that caused him to embrace her entire being. His hard hands, over worked and weary, felt her skin as the knife shaped the wood: its blade following the natural flow. She felt his kisses, delicately expressed with soft breaths against her cheek. The knife kissed the wood as it carved in the small designs, swirling down the grain. The artisan at work, Maria sighed, his passions flowing through his fingertips as a musician plucks harp strings. It was euphony between wood and man._

_ Luciano felt Maria's eyes and turned to her. Her eyes smiled. And for a moment, Maria felt something truly intimate. It was as if his soul and hers had touched._

_ Maria stood by the grave, its stone under the boughs of a low oak. She held the carving of Mary that Luciano had carved that day. Its womanly shape and figure portrayed the mother of god with her hands cradling her stomach, swelled with child. The expression of love on her face was Luciano's interpretation of Maria on that day._

_ As she placed the small figurine on the freshly piled soil of the grave, Maria couldn't help but remember his hands. Despite their rough exterior created by his years of toil as a carpenter, she never felt something more beautiful. He lived his life through his hands and created not only the piece before her, but numerous chairs and tables, bowls and frames. Every creation was made by those hands, every movement driven by his passion. Luciano was gone, yet he still remained in his work and in her heart._

_ And somehow that made her feel at peace._


	6. Chapter 6 Have Been

Ezio had called Maria, Angelo and Leonardo to his study. Maria stood in silence as Ezio and Leonardo entered the room. Angelo snorted.

"It's been an hour since you called us!"

"Be calm," Ezio hushed, his hand dismissively batting his anger, "the letter took longer to decode than we expected."

"Surely it wasn't that difficult, master," he muttered.

"Then decode it yourself," Ezio retorted, tossing the letter onto the desk. Maria stepped towards it, and looked at the encryption.

...1.

Angelo said nothing.

"It's quite simple, actually," Leonardo began, glad to share his discovery, "I thought it was strange, using numbers, and I was sure it required a code wheel. However, look at the repeating numbers at the end...one, nineteen, nineteen, one, nineteen, nineteen...this made me suspicious, and I looked a bit further, and ah ha! I realized the numbers represent letters!"

"And you said it was difficult!"

"Up until I saw this pattern, it was. But now look at the numbers again, and consider that each number represents the numerical position of a letter in the alphabet. A being one, B being two..."

Maria gazed down at the encryption. She counted the letters in her head. Fifteen was "o", twenty-three "w" and twenty "t".

"It still doesn't make sense," she wondered aloud.

"Yes, at first," Leonardo agreed, "But suppose we start at the end of the code! One is 'a', nineteen 's', so that is a-s-s-a-s-s-i-"

"Assassin," Ezio interrupted. The room fell into a hush. "The full message is this: assassins near, know of eden, hide treasure, six two four one two."

"What do the numbers mean?" Angelo persisted, frustrated that he did not see through the illusion.

"It is a date," Leonardo replied, "for the sixth month, on the twenty fourth day at midnight."

"I have researched this date," Ezio explained, "Riccardo will be holding a party at his villa that night, probably as a facade for the templar meeting that will take place at midnight, and this is when we will strike."

"A classic ambush!" Angelo grinned.

"Not quite," Ezio interrupted, "this is a fragile meeting, a single suspicion and the whole meeting will be called off, the codes changed and Riccardo will head back to his barracks outside of Italy. However, I believe there is one way to kill Riccardo right under his nose. I know for a fact that he has a weakness; a weakness for women."

Ezio turned to Maria.

Maria said nothing, but her expression was cold.

"Maria will disguise herself as a courtesan."

Angelo burst into a fit of laughter. It was a mocking, slick laugh, and Ezio opened his mouth to silence him, but Maria was too fast.

Her hand slapped him across the face.

For a moment, Angelo was silent, his hand instinctively covering his red cheek. It was short lived.

"You bitch!" Angelo cried. His hands reached forward, intending to hurl her to the ground, but Ezio drew between them.

"Enough! I will not tolerate a break in the brotherhood!" Ezio grabbed Angelo's arm and threw him aside, then he turned to Maria, his finger directed at her under accusation, "And that includes you, Maria!"

Maria looked away.

"You have to work together!" Ezio commanded, walking back to his desk. He sighed, sitting down into his uncle's chair, "If either of you want your revenge,"

Angelo cursed under his breath.

Maria returned to the kitchen that night with a red dress. She laid it on the table and examined it. With its low collar, ripped skirt and abundant frills, it symbolized the whore. She tossed the shoes and headdress away in disgust.

_"Angelo will bring his men to the rear of the villa during the party, making sure to take care of the archers and any guards that will pose a threat."_

Pouring warm water into a large wash pan, Maria let the steam float up and warm her face. She exhaled, exhausted.

_"As Angelo is doing so, Maria will attend the party with a group of courtesans Claudia has organized."_

Dipping her toes into the water, Maria sat in the bowl, and began to wash her body. The small bar of soap slid along her arm, leaving a path of small bubbles.

_"Maria will seduce Riccardo and pull him away from the party. Then, she will kill him."_

Her hair dripped with water, the brown locks soaked with suds. She poured a bowl of water over her head, washing away the soap.

_"You will not fail."_

As Maria pulled her white nightdress on for the first time in years, she let the cotton wrap around her and cling to her wet body, scented with lavender. She embraced it, her arms wrapping around her body and letting the fabric catch and fold between her fingers.

_"One day I won't have to leave," Luciano whispered to Maria, his rough hands stroking the cotton of her nightdress._

_ "One day I will be fat," she complained, followed by the bells of her laughter._

_ "Because you will be with child!" he testified, his body embracing hers. She squirmed in fake protest. He cooed, his voice low and loving, and stroked her shoulders. Finally, he found his way to her stomach. It curved outwards from her body, the round shape ending right before her groin. He admired the curve._

_ "One day when this is all done," he murmured in a soft voice, his hand rubbing her belly. She gazed up towards him, her vision clouded with ecstasy. He began to weep. He made no noise, but the innocent tears that fell onto the fresh bed sheets._

"It will soon be done,"


	7. Chapter 7 Somehow

Maria gripped the saddle and hurled it up and onto her black courser. It snorted under the weight, and stomped its hooves in the anticipation of the coming journey.

The red dress was hidden away in the leather satchel; the blade wrapped in the fabric. Maria pulled the straps taut and fastened the clasps, the final preparations finished.

She turned towards the house. It was empty now: the valuables given away, the furniture sold or abandoned and the floor swept for the final time. Maria went to say goodbye.

As her boots clicked on the floorboards, she retraced the steps of her life here, as prominent as the blood stain in the entrance. She ran her hand along the banister, the kitchen table and the fireplace. She entered the workshop last.

She kissed his chair.

As Angelo's spirited horse shook its head impatiently, Maria appeared on the path beside him. They nodded to each other. Angelo spurred his horse ahead of Maria, she lingered behind.

"Where are your men?"

"Ahead," Angelo related, "They will arrive without us and leave without us. It will be safer that way."

They rode for hours, their horses sweating with the effort.

"I will be ambushing the meeting at midnight," Angelo stated, his voice detached, "You and I will be working separately, so you will be on your own."

"Riccardo will be dead at midnight."

Angelo remained silent.

There was a brief break to let the horses drink at a small stream.

"I will not interfere with your mission, Angelo. And I trust that you will, in return, not interfere with mine," Maria warned.

"I have no interest in your objectives."

When they finally stopped for the night, hidden beneath the boughs of a mighty oak far from the road, Maria looked up at the villa. It sat on the mountainside, its vast size and elaborate design juxtaposed the humble country village below. The lights from the villa speckled the landscape.

An hour before dawn came, they rose. Angelo and Maria saddled their horses, and ate their fill. At last, they turned to one another. Angelo stretched out his hand.

"May you succeed," he confessed, his voice strangely open, "and finish this fight."

"And may you be favoured in the battle," Maria replied, her voice carrying the same tone, "and bring an end to this war."

They shook hands, and bowed their heads. Then, their hands on their hearts, they bowed before turning their separate ways.

Claudia welcomed Maria, but she refused the company. She requested privacy, and sat alone on the balcony facing the empty farmlands for the day, her red scarf pulled out towards the view by the wind. A careless prostitute opened a door and saw her, the angry red a blemish on the regular tranquility.

When the evening came, Maria had not eaten. Claudia encouraged her, but Maria refused politely. It was time. She went into a room, and pulled out the dress. Pulling it over her body, the red velvet smooth and rich, it caught her curves and bosom, creating a silhouette of her most womanly features. It disgusted her. She donned a small circlet with a red veil to hide her face and accentuate her eyes, and although weightless, it hid her well. She wrapped it around her.

Then she drew out her hidden blade. She would be different from the other courtesans, her sleeves still intact. The difference was minimal in appearance, yet necessary for her mission. She fastened on her hidden blade, the cold metal stinging her warm skin. The small clasps created pure notes as she clicked them: miniature chimes.

As she looked in the mirror, she saw only her eyes. They became suddenly forlorn.

_ Luciano and Maria sat on a bench. In the plaza, people passed two street performers: a cellist and a violinist. Their strings seemed to shiver and quake, the sound a true regret. Luciano wrapped his arm around Maria's waist._

_ The cellist drew deep, the bow pulling out a bass chord deeply low. The violinist, his head inclined as he held the instrument, strained with a soprano note that reached beyond its strings. The two came together, and left Maria breathless._

_ It was a doomed song. The two unfit for each other, yet so closely intertwined. At times, the two instruments played the same note, the music a perfect balance of harmony. Then, they twisted and returned to the melancholy before_

_ And as the merchants, labourers and wives walked past, the two men stretched the sound, lifting it above the crowds. The two found the perfect harmony, and they soared in the blissful strain. The moment caught Maria, her body completely entranced. Then, as the note faded, the musicians relaxed, and their instruments fell still._


	8. Chapter 8 Different

Maria entered.

Petals trailed along the floor, lanterns hovered above the hall and people swarmed. The buzz of meaningless chatter and the hum of gossip filled the warm air. Nearby, the smell of freshly cooked meat and red wine wafted between the intoxicated dancers. Laughter overflowed.

The courtesans arrived. The men took notice first, lustful eyes resting on their bare collars. They swaggered through the crowd, seductively pulling men away from their wives and comrades to dark corners and empty rooms.

Maria remained behind. She did not wave her hips or toss her hair. Rather, her face was hidden underneath the sheer scarlet veil that fell from her golden band. Her collar was bare like the others, and the dress she wore along with its corset were more than enough to emphasize her.

But as she passed, it was something else that drew every look towards her. It may have been elegance, as her legs effortlessly carried her through the room. Or it could have been the way she held herself, the posture and stance that of refined blood. But to many it was the elusive eye they caught, the flash of emerald. Her irises would catch another's, and she would see deep within them, to the point they would edge forward. Then she would drag away, her eyes pulling as if under the burden of weights.

She was mesmerizing. She was mysterious. She was bait.

Riccardo was not far away. Dressed extravagantly, sharply argumentative and strikingly handsome, he lurked ahead of Maria. She approached.

It was an exchange. Maria lifted her eyes, reaching for him. He responded by examining her wares, the scarlet dress cut just along her pale thighs. He smirked, but was surprised as she turned away. He frowned.

"Impudent courtesan!" he yelled, his friends chuckling at the scence, "Come here!"

Maria turned, her eyes sinking into his again.

"Come," he invited more warmly.

She left. Riccardo began forward, his shoulders squared with pride. Maria darted away through the crowds of dancers. Riccardo pursued. She ducked into a dark crevice in a connecting hallway, and he followed, his body pushing forward to press against her.

Their only contact was through Maria's hand as she caressed over his face, his sharp stubble under her palms. Then, she was gone.

Riccardo and Maria played the game, one pursing another back and forth throughout the evening. He would see her, chase her into a corner, and she would intimately caress him, be it her hands on his chest, or her breath on his shoulder, then disappear into the crowds again. Each time, he became more aroused, the sensitive hints twisting his excitement, the endless pursuit a stimulating challenge. And with each exchange, he was lead farther and farther away.

The night became late, the moon almost in the middle of the sky. That was when he saw it.

Red.

The red vanished behind a column. Riccardo bolted after it. Desperately, he searched. Then it was there again.

Red.

He followed the small glimpses of scarlet, the candles flickering and dancing with shadows. The hunt was on. Soon, he would lay with her. Soon, she would be his.

Riccardo was led out of the villa to a small square garden between the buildings. Moonlight funnelled into the garden, cascading through the branches of a tall, Italian plum tree. The small blossoms covered the ground and floated over the stone benches.

Red.

Maria stood, her body glowing with moonlight. Riccardo gazed at her, lust in his eyes. He started towards her, his body pulsing with hunger.

She pulled off the veil.

"Dear God," he stopped.

Maria stood, her hand still clutching the veil. On her face was the expression of malice, pure hate. It was sickening, and it was powerful. Riccardo hesitated.

"You," Maria accused, her voice shaking with tremors. She stepped forward, her posture and pace no longer elegant. Her body seemed to lurch, "Riccardo..."

Riccardo smirked, "Beloved Maria, what took you so long?"

She pushed forward still, her hand dropping the veil.

"I knew you would come for me, for that damned husband of yours," he scoffed.

Maria ripped the sleeves off her dress, the blades on her arms glistening with blood thirst.

"Don't worry, Maria," he groaned, "I'll fuck you before I kill you"

She ran at him.

Her blade shot at his belly, but he gripped her arm and threw her aside. Maria stumbled and he lunged, but she pulled back and slashed at his face. Riccardo jumped away. He was quick.

She yelled, throwing herself towards him and thrusting the blade to his collar. Again, he caught her arm. She struggled, and he laughed maliciously as he hurled her at the ground. Maria's shoulder slammed into the stonework, and she gasped in pain. Riccardo mounted her, his legs apart, and he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"I will enjoy this," he sneered.

Maria thrashed under him, but his weight dominated her. He held her armed wrist down, but her other arm scratched at his chest. He grinned as he ripped away her dress and exposed her fine, white undergarment. He grabbed her chest and his breathing became hard, then, he leaned forward.

Maria punched him.

Her fist cracked into his jaw, and he yowled as he reached for it instinctively. She kneed him in the groin, and he rolled over defensively. She began to get up, but he recovered quickly and charged at her, his body trying to pin her down again. However, Maria expected this, and reached for his eyes. Using her thumbs, she gouged the sockets, and blood spurted from the tear ducts. He shrieked with pain, and Maria fell back.

Finding her balance as she stood again, she gritted her teeth as Riccardo heaved like wolf, his anger still flaring. She punched him again, and twisted his arm until bone cracked under her hands. He pulled away, and she let him. He crawled towards the plum tree. Maria approached, blood on her face and her shoulder. Her chest heaved as she set the blade.

"Tell me why you killed him," Maria commanded.

"He carved the box," Riccardo coughed.

"Explain!" Maria yelled.

"The box, for the sword...the piece of eden. He knew about it, so he had to die."

"Why?" Maria demanded, but her voice soon became a beg, "Why Luciano? Why him?"

Riccardo heaved, his body weakening by the second.

"Why did you make him carve the box!" Maria screamed, kneeling down and shaking Riccardo, "Why not some other carpenter? Someone else could have done it! Why Luciano?"

"Because," Riccado turned to her, his eyes almost crying with blood, "he was the only one who could carve so beautifully."

Maria fell to the ground, her strength gone. Riccardo rolled over, his spirit slowly escaping his body.

Maria just waited.

She waited for acceptance.

She waited for reason.

She waited for revenge.

She waited for time.

She waited for death.

She waited for peace.

And as she sat there, waiting on the blood stained plum blossoms, something clicked inside her. She looked over to Riccardo, and she shook her head weakly and hopelessly.

"I've been seeking the wrong person," she whispered, her voice wavering.

He didn't stir.

"I wasn't meant to kill you." She dragged herself away from him, to a small strip of moonlight sailing down the branches of the tree onto a patch of freshly fallen blossoms. Her body ached as she did, pain drumming in her ears, but her face soon was lit with the light. A small stream of blood was behind her.

"Your life isn't mine to take, as Luciano's wasn't yours."

Maria lifted her hidden blade, still clasped to her arm.

"Finally," Maria sighed, her voice reaching a tone of sudden peace.

Slowly, she unclasped the greave. She did the clasps one by one, her thin fingers flicking the braces. Tears fell onto the metal. The blade slid off her forearm easily, the worn leather softened with age.

Maria adjusted it, and held it to her belly. She smiled.

The metal clicked, and it plunged into her stomach.

Her body rested down onto the stone, the cold numbing her body. She wept as the pain roared inside her, and her hand dropped the blade. She watched as blood swirled over the blossoms, staining them and carrying them away. Her body shivered, and then it fell still.

The only thing that moved was the wind.

When Angelo found her with his men, he went to her body and lifted it gingerly, carrying it like a newborn child.

His men collected the blossoms, their large, calloused hands tenderly lifting the petals off the ground. They took only the ones stained with red.

The grave was dug under the same tree as Luciano's. Angelo dug the hole by himself as the brotherhood watched. Ezio bowed his head as he said the service.

The blossoms were scattered over her body, and her hands were wrapped around a blossoming plum branch.

Angelo buried her.

When it was all done, he rested his shovel against the tree and kneeled before the grave. It was dusk, and the wind was calm. He patted the soil with his hands, and he lifted a carved box from the side.

He laid it on her grave.

His eyes whispered, "Ave Maria."

* * *

**All original characters and game concepts belong to Ubisoft and its other respective owners.**

**For every review submitted, the sender will receive an extra excerpt not published here to your PM box.**

**Constructive criticism is welcomed and any other comments or questions you may have. Thank you for joining me on this journey with Maria.**

**May she rest in peace in her heart as well as in ours.**


	9. Bonus Excerpt

Maria was asleep.

She lay on a blanket in the garden, her body curled up in a shady reserve. The warmth of the foliage and the scent of fresh summer blossoms created a paradise.

Luciano arrived home, dropping his bags at the entrance. He kneeled over, searching in the satchel.

When the door creaked open, Maria did not stir. Luciano gazed out as his bride with her soft locks swept across her face. The breeze gently stirred the garden.

He quietly traced her steps to the blanket, careful to not make any noise. His chestnut hair curled around his face as he smiled.

The touch of his hand to hers was soft. Her fingers seemed to relax under the familiar warmth. Lowering down onto the blanket, he folded himself behind her in a tender embrace. His travelling clothes were still on.

She stayed asleep, and Luciano gently caressed her cheek, the soft skin wet with tears. A nightmare, he thought. Lovingly, he raised his head and leaned over her.

Luciano kissed her cheek.

Maria smiled.


End file.
